


...Till A' The Seas Gang Dry...

by moth2fic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-28
Updated: 2008-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strong emotions transcend species alteration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...Till A' The Seas Gang Dry...

**Author's Note:**

> There was a spate of SGA fic involving transformation of characters into animals of one sort or another. I felt constrained to add the p.o.v. of the penguins but kept the general plot background of the other tales. I can't find a way to give a group of stories as my inspiration so here they are:  
> Pygoscelis (Or, a Gift of Pebbles) by Leah  
> Tarsiidae (Or, a Simian Vacation) also by Leah  
> Mating Rituals by karen mcfadyyon  
> I owe them thanks and apologies.  
> I owe thanks to Fledge for beta work and for information about penguins.

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There was something terribly wrong.

 

To begin with, if it was a beginning, because he couldn't remember, it was not cold enough and there was definitely a lack of water.

 

Then, if there wasn't enough water, there couldn't be enough food.

 

He swivelled his head round and surveyed the scene. There were large blurred shapes, moving around him. 'Giants'. Where had that word come from? What did it mean? Large blurred shapes? He wasn't sure. Maybe finding food would make him less uncertain, improve his memory. But that meant finding water. And there certainly wasn't enough water. In fact there wasn't any water, except a tiny bit in a strange translucent container on a - 'shelf''? On a rock. A shiny rock. 'Metal'? Another useless word buzzing through his head.

 

The swivelling had shown the blurred shapes and the useless water and the shiny rock. It had also shown the Other. The Other was standing perfectly still, obviously waiting for him to do something. Obviously needing water, and cold, and food. Which needed water. He shook his head, frustrated.

 

He knew he had to look after the Other. That was a given. A fixed point in his - 'universe'? His ocean. He moved closer to the Other and tried to give off signals that meant food and water and cold would be forthcoming. He wasn't sure if he was understood or believed, but the Other, in turn, moved closer to him. His Other - he wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did.

 

Then one of the shapes pounced. It tried to catch him and he fought, bravely and against all odds, hoping to be set free, and hoping the other would admire his courage. There was a noise, possibly connected with the kicks and pecks he administered, and yes, he was free.

 

He heaved a sigh of relief and glanced at the Other, who looked poised, ready for - 'flight'? Well, ready to leave in a hurry. And admiring. Definitely admiring.

 

Together they made their way across the floor of the strange beach. There was no sand and the surface was slippery but they evaded the grasping blurs and headed towards a lighter area and the smell of the sea.

 

They reached the water's edge. The blurs were far, far behind, though he could hear them growling and grumbling. The Other was waiting on the shore. Waiting to dive. He calculated that they had enough time to bond before diving and moved in confidently. The other seemed surprised but pleased. Acquiescent. He mated with him, rapidly. With him. Was that a problem? The Other didn't seem to think so. Perhaps it wasn't. This was, after all, his -'significant' - Other. The most important Other in his life. And he must look after him.

 

He shook his head again to clear the strange words from his brain. Words that hung their meanings tantalisingly in the cool air. For it was cooler here. And it would be cooler still in the water. Not cold enough, of course, but manageable.

 

There was water. It was cool. There might well be food.

 

He gave the Other a little push and they went over the side into the sea. The blurs were at the shoreline, making a great deal of noise. He wished he had been braver. Maybe he could have kicked and pecked more of them.

 

They were swimming now, beginning to relax in the familiar surroundings. A blur was setting out after them. Too slowly. They didn't need to consult each other. They just dived.

 

Suddenly they were all grace and power. This was their element, their home. Sinuous and sleek they twisted their way into deeper water. Further from the shore. Further from the blurs. Further from the possibility of capture and - what? 'Imprisonment'? Another crazy word. There were words hanging in the sea now. Beckoning him. Trying to show him something just out of sight. He was brave and resolute and would ignore them. The only thing that mattered was caring for the Other. And food.

 

To his relief, there was food swimming everywhere. An abundance of food. He must catch some for the Other. He was fast and competent and he caught some food but swallowed it reflexively before he could get it to his mate. Shame burned his heart. He would try again. More food flickered past and he caught it. This time he offered it. The Other took his offering and nodded gratitude but then swam in lazy circles, catching his own food. 'Laughing'? Well, all right, they could simply hunt and feed together. He would find feeding grounds for them both.

 

They were well out to sea now. Cold, or almost cold. Surrounded by food. Away from the blurs.

 

But as he thought how well everything was going, a lean silver shape darted past and snapped at the food. It was long. Fast. Long enough and fast enough to regard them as food. They were probably safe. There was so much to eat that the predator would probably ignore them. Probably.

 

He shepherded the Other away and then led him in a direction where he sensed land. They could climb out and rest. Assess their situation. Consult others. Relax into the harmony of the flock.

 

When they reached the shore and clambered out, the beach that met their eyes was - 'beautiful'. Virgin sand as far as the eye could see. A strange sensation flashed across his eyes. Something - 'golden'. 'Golden'? A 'colour'. His brain mulled over the new input. 'Colour' meant light and dark. 'Black' and 'white'? But this was another - 'colour'. And the sea, the familiar sea, was betraying him. It, too, was another - 'colour'. 'Blue'.

 

This wouldn't do. He asserted himself with a rapid pair bonding. This time he managed to penetrate the Other, who thrust backwards towards him. Definitely acquiescent.

 

But equally definitely male.

 

Where were the rest? The other others? They were the only ones on the beach. Later, they must swim round the headland that cut off the distant view, and find the flock. For now, he was tired. Tired and a little disoriented. And very much concerned for the Other. They were pleasantly full and reasonably cool. They could afford to sleep. Chest to chest, they rested their heads on each other's shoulders and stood still as statues on the 'golden' sand.

 

% % %

 

When they woke, the sky was darker and there was a slight breeze, ruffling them and sending little sprays of sand over their feet and beyond them across the beach. They preened each other gently. Preening was important. Of course it strengthened the bond, but it also prepared them for the sea. Made sure they were streamlined and waterproof. They preened happily. Then mated again, uttering soft cries of delight. They were truly bonded now.

 

He would have to eat more. Fatten up for winter. He looked ahead to the slow dance of fathers-to-be on the ice. Protecting each other from the wind and the snow. Protecting the eggs Then he realised. There would be no eggs. No chicks. His Other was male.

 

Why did he feel sad? He didn't even like chicks. Noisy, messy things, always underfoot. Always too curious. Too heedless. Too young. But not ever being able . . .But there were compensations. Especially the other. His Other. The other half of his soul. They were paired for life now. It was too late to worry about chicks or eggs or anything else. Except each other.

 

But even so. Where was the rest of the flock? And the ice?

 

His brain sent a shower of images. Huge blurs. 'Colours'. Nonsense, all of it. The flock would be round the headland. They would find them today.

 

% % %

 

They headed for the water again. Played at the edge for a moment or two. Mated again. Preened briefly. Flopped into an incoming wave and swam out into the sea.

 

The beach around the next headland was as empty as the previous one. The Other was looking worried and he had to stay strong for him. Keep him safe. Make sure he found food. They swam off, but without a destination in mind.

 

As they moved through the water, all curves and beauty, another image taunted him. A huge - 'ring' - of water. And definitely -'blue'. With white spray and foam. Then another image, of a 'prison'. But the - 'bars' were - 'designed' - to keep them safe. To keep predators out. The thought was troubling. But persistent.

 

As though on cue, a huge shape loomed in the semi-darkness. A rock? An iceberg? They swam curiously towards it, feeding as they went. Maybe the other others would be there. A flash and one of the long predators appeared. The Other snapped at it bravely. Spinning in circles round it. Dizzying it. Teaching it they were not to be trifled with. And just as he was glowing with admiration and pride, the huge shape shifted, opened, and . . .the predator was gone. Not however, before they had seen a gleam of white teeth and a cavernous throat.

 

They swam faster than they had believed possible. Away. In any direction, but away. And together.

 

They found their first beach, by accident rather than instinct, and walked further up than before. They burrowed a hole in the sand, helping each other and chirruping in distress. Then they huddled together in their makeshift home. And bonded.

 

They had fed well and there was no need to brave the water again. Perhaps tomorrow the grey thing would be gone.

 

They slept nestled close in their new home. He could sense the Other's heartbeats and that made him feel protective and oddly comforted. And warm. Sometimes it was good to feel warm.

 

In the morning he woke first and thought while he waited for his mate to open his eyes. The grey thing was bad. There was no flock. No ice. There were lesser predators and no safety in numbers.

 

More images ran like ghosts through his mind. The blurs, their growls concerned, even loving. The warm place with the shiny rocks. 'Prison' or protective 'custody'. Safety for the Other. Food. He wished they could discuss it. Or that somehow he could know what the Other thought. He preened him gently. Some time, he would have to wake up.

 

When he did, they mated. Fiercely. Desperately, as if to drown out the grey thing and the lack of others. Then brushed their cheeks softly against each other. 'Kissing'. Whatever it was called, it felt good.

 

Then he saw the pebbles. Large, perfectly oval, seaworn. And veined with 'blue'. His heart leapt. Battening down the part of his mind that wanted to investigate the 'blueness' and explain it, he managed to trundle one across to the Other. Presented it. Bowed. The Other chirruped in obvious delight and presented himself for mating. He wanted to call his pleasure and his pride to the whole ocean. The Other was totally his.

 

'To have and to hold, from this day forth . . .' He shook the alien words away but only tentatively. They had a resonance, a rightness.

 

They spent most of the day mating, cuddling, playing in the safe shallows. Once, they ventured a little way out and fed. When night fell, they retreated to their burrow again and lay as close as they could, breathing each other's breath, dreaming each other's dreams.

 

In the morning, he knew it was time to return to the blurs. Common sense said it was the only answer. There was some dangerous sea to traverse on the way but they could hope. He looked carefully at the Other, who seemed willing to follow his lead. Another assertive mating. Deep penetration.

 

Afterwards they preened, and he tried to make the plumage on the Other's head lie properly. Tried hard, until the Other wriggled his displeasure and took a few steps away along the beach. He caught up with him and mated him again, roughly this time, to reassert his authority. The Other pressed close to him, pecked him very gently. Sighed.

 

Then they 'kissed', (he thought the word was a good one and could be adopted) and set out.

 

% % %

 

Their journey was without incident. They saw another of the grey shapes in the distance and one of the lean predators passed them, but nothing attacked. They fed, but not much. Time was important. Probably.

 

When they came up to the shore where they'd escaped the blurs, there was a problem. There was a straight-sided cliff. They'd simply dived over on the outward trip. Now, what? Then a couple of blurs loomed into sight with -'nets'? They allowed themselves to be caught and heard the relief in the growls.

 

They were taken into the darker area, a place with what they now saw was a 'metal' sky. And found themselves tipped into a beach, closed on all sides, with a small pool of water, plenty of pebbles, and a tempting pile of food. Dead but still fresh. With one accord, they ate first and mated second. Then snuggled close in their favourite pose, each head on a loving shoulder. And rested.

 

The imprisonment, for that was how he now thought of it, lasted for days. They were well cared for. Sometimes one of the blurs would stop to growl at them. Sometimes they would just throw food into the beach. One of the blurs, slighter than most, with a higher pitched growl, 'talked' a lot Especially to the Other, who seemed to listen and enjoy the attention. Once, he hugged the Other awkwardly to him and manoeuvred them both to a safe distance. Mated with him. But he only went back again.

 

Something was not quite right about the situation. This was HIS other. If the blur came close it would be pecked - and kicked. Without mercy.

 

They had been unable to carry the beautiful pebble from their beach. But there were pebbles here. Small flat round ones. A sensible grey colour. He hesitated. Maybe they were too small. But surely the thought counted? Apparently it did, for as he considered, the other nudged him. Towards the pebbles. And gave him an encouraging peck and a firm nudge. He mated with him at once, to show his pleasure and his agreement. Then they exchanged pebbles, gravely, their eyes shining, and bowed. And bowed again. And kissed - feather soft touches that sealed the ceremony.

 

% % %

 

The flurry and fluster of the change would always be lost in the depths of his mind. But changed they were. Back.

 

He sat in his office, trying to stay macho and calm, but crying inside. Yearning for the uncomplicated love he'd had from his 'other'. He played with a pebble he'd rescued from the pen. The young woman who was sweeping up was not particularly surprised. Someone else had been souvenir hunting, she said. Something about pendants. He sighed. These were HIS pebbles. His and the 'other's'. Well, maybe not this exact one, but the general principle was the same. And it was all he had.

 

He started to hum, unconsciously, then remembered the song that had sprung unbidden to his lips. Something his grandmother had sung when she was pushing their Scottish ancestry. Their surname must have come over at the time of the Highland clearances, though they had no records. A poem by Robert Burns, set to music. How did it go? Something about love and eternity and farewell. 'O my luve's like a red, red rose . . .' He'd shared the memory, last Hogmanay, with Carson, who had laughed and said that by now half the world must boast Scots blood - half the old world, that is. But had sung the song with him. A sad song but a loving one.

 

Sad was right. Sad was how he felt. Bereft. Not exactly bereaved, because the 'other' was alive and well. But no longer his. And presumably never his again. Though if there were the slightest chance . . .He would move heaven and earth . . .

 

Someone darted into the office and through to the lab and back again. His eyebrows raised in query. The intruder was looking for a drill bit that would make a small hole in stone. Wrong lab, wrong office. But it was important. Someone had asked everyone to look . . .Something about pendants again. He shrugged and went back to trying to remember all the words of the song. The computer would probably have it - they'd loaded most of the world's music, so far as he could tell. But it seemed important to remember it himself.

 

He was vaguely aware of the whine and grind of a drill behind the wall. Faintly annoyed to think of someone wearing HIS pebble as a fashion item. Or the 'other's'. Then there was silence.

 

It was Burns Night, as a matter of fact. On earth, wherever there were Scots, however tenuous their claim to the heritage, there'd be parties and dancing and laughter. And Burns. There would be no laughter for him tonight.

 

Most of the song was in his head now and he started to sing, softly. He didn't want to bring mockery on his head. No more than there'd been already.

 

" . . . O my Luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.

 

As fair art thou, my bonny - "

 

The door clicked to and he was aware of a shadow.

"Lad," said the shadow. "You were going to say 'lass', but 'lad' fits just as well. Better, in fact."

 

He looked up. Across at the drilled pebble swinging jauntily beside the dog tags in what was obviously its permanent home. Further up, at the lop-sided confident grin. And then beyond, in a dawning rush of joy and hope, at the hair that, as usual, cried out for - preening?

END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title, and the quotations, are taken from a famous poem by Robert Burns, which has been memorably set to music and tends to be sung tipsily at Hogmanay parties and soulfully on Burns Night. The whole text is reproduced below
> 
> O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE
> 
> O my Luve's like a red, red rose
> 
> That's newly sprung in June:
> 
> O my Luve's like the melodie
> 
> That's sweetly play'd in tune.
> 
>  
> 
> As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
> 
> So deep in love am I:
> 
> And I will luve thee still, my dear,
> 
> Till a' the seas gang dry:
> 
>  
> 
> Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
> 
> And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
> 
> I will luve thee still, my dear,
> 
> While the sands o' life shall run.
> 
>  
> 
> And fare thee weel, my only Luve
> 
> And fare thee weel awhile!
> 
> And I will come again, my Luve,
> 
> Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
> 
>  
> 
> ROBERT BURNS


End file.
